Love on the Line - Deeanne Gist [81]
“Not with the intruders.” She glanced at the couch. “I can’t say the same about us.”
He scowled. “Nothing happened between us, either.”
“I’m not sure the good ladies of Brenham would agree.”
“Then the good ladies of Brenham can be d—”
She touched a finger to his lips. “There’s a reason society has rules about unmarried women being alone with unmarried men. And what happened between us on the couch is a perfect example.”
He wrapped his hand around hers. “Nothing happened on that couch. We kissed. Nothing more.”
“I was in my nightdress,” she whispered, humiliation clogging her throat. “On your lap.”
“If anyone is to blame, it’s me. I’m the one who carried you out here. I’m the one who pulled you onto my lap. But truth is, under the circumstances, I’d do it again.”
“You’re justifying.”
“So I am. Nothing happened.”
Outside, Honey Dew gave an expectant whinny and received a distant one in reply.
“The sheriff’s almost here,” he said. “When he arrives, you tell him about the men who broke in. What happened after I found you is between you and me.”
She pulled away from him and headed to the kitchen. “Doesn’t matter. I’m ruined anyway.”
“You’re not ruined.”
“I am.” She propped open the door. “And, as such, I won’t be able to stay.”
“Won’t be able to stay?”
“In Brenham.”
His jaw began to tick. “Did those men touch you, other than to tie you up?”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“Oh, yes it does.” He followed her into the kitchen. She felt him closing in, his footsteps stopping right behind her.
She fit a small muslin bag into a coffeepot. “Thank you for stocking the stove and putting some water on to boil.”
Grasping her arm, he spun her around. “Did those men touch you, other than to tie you up? Yes or no?”
“No.”
“Then you are not ruined.” His eyes were ablaze, his tone fierce.
She sighed. “Please let go. I’m tired of being treated roughly.”
He dropped her arm as if he’d been singed and fell back. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
She pulled the coffee canister from a cupboard, her eyes filling at the thought of leaving her job, her cottage, her birds, her friends.
“What if you marry me?” he asked.
Letting out a short huff of air, she scooped two tablespoons of coffee into the muslin bag. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I’m dead serious.”
“But you don’t love me.”
“I’m thinking we’ll get along just fine.”
She looked at him and saw he was, in fact, serious. The overwhelming generosity of his gesture filled her with warmth. “I can’t let you do that, Luke. But thank you. Thank you for being willing.”
“Georgie?” The sheriff pounded on her door. “Open up. It’s me. Nussbaum.”
She set down the spoon and moved toward the door.
Luke grabbed her hand.
She winced, her wrists still tender.
“Marry me,” he repeated.
“Georgie?” The sheriff again.
“I’m coming!” she called, then tugged on her hand, but he wouldn’t free it. “No, Luke. I appreciate the offer. I really do. But I’m not going to marry you.”
“Then, will you go to Maifest with me?”
She tugged again. “Let go.”
“Answer me.”
“Georgie?” More hammering. “What in tarnation is going on in there? Open up or I’m bustin’ in.”
“Coming!”
“Answer me.” Jaw set, his eyes impaled her.
“Fine,” she hissed. “Now let go.”
He released her. She flew to the door.
The sheriff’s brown hair was mussed, his glasses cockeyed, his mustache flat. He looked like an untried boy with pasted-on facial hair. “What took so long? You all right? Palmer said you had some trouble. What’s he doing over here at this hour?”
“I was leaving a Mai tree at her window.” Luke crossed the room, extending a hand. “She called for help when she heard me. I busted in and found her tied up.”
“Tied up?” He shook Luke’s hand, then gave her a once-over.
“Show him your wrists, Georgie,” Luke said.
She pushed up a sleeve, revealing rings of raw, scraped skin.
The sheriff furrowed his brows. “Better tell me everything.”
Taking a breath, she tugged her sleeve back into place. “I’ve just put some coffee on. Would you care to join me in the kitchen? We can talk in there.”
Without waiting for an answer, she headed